Black Roses
by MVTay
Summary: It has been ten months since Christmas and Violet still hasn't forgiven Tate. But a few new appearances in the house throw them into an uneasy partnership. Feelings resurface and secrets come out. Is Tate really 'the darkness?  This is a Violate fanfic!
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello! This is my first fanfic, so I hope you like it! I thought a few people might need a little Violate since Ryan left us all in the lurch and is now threatening to take them away! I know, it is sacrilege! I'll probably post maybe two or three times a week – but don't be surprised if some weeks it is only one post as I have exams etc. coming up soon :/ boo. Oh and a shout out to Rose (or Violate-this-noble-war on Tumblr) for the title and for being awesome 3**

Tate POV

"I'm sorry Tate." Nora's soft voice materialised behind me. I found no comfort in it now. "I know you loved her." I stared down at the black rose cupped in my hands and shook my head.

"It's not your fault Nora." I mumbled, twirling the wilted rose through my fingers. It was her fault. I _was _her fault!

I could hear Violet upstairs, talking to the baby. She wasn't cooing like Moira or Vivien did, she was actually having a frank conversation with him. Probably about the Ramones or Kurt Cobain. I couldn't help but smile.

"Tate," Nora placed a cold hand on my shoulder. Unwillingly, my nostrils flared. "I know you did this for me and I-"

"You didn't even want it!" I screamed, my eyes slitting in a way they hadn't for a while. "Now it's all ruined." I quietened then and crammed my palms against my eyes.

"Life's too short for so much sorrow." Nora whispered.

"You're wrong. It's an eternity." I echoed her previous words and glanced up. She'd gone. "Endless days and nights of longing" I mumbled to myself and fingered the crumpled petals of the rose.


	2. Part 1

**A/N: Alright, so that last Prologue was just a little bit of a 'setting the scene' thing! Here comes the good stuff! All reviews are appreciated – tell me what you think!**

Violet POV

Marcy's voice carried throughout the house as she stepped in and reminded the prospective buyers to wipe their feet. I kicked my skirt out from under my shoes as I bent to perch on the stairs. As the family filed in, a smirk spread itself across my face.

The mother, who reminded me of a chipmunk, was short and thin with wispy blonde hair cropped into a bob. She clutched a pad to her chest and gripped her child's hand as if he were only five years old. The kid, who in fact looked around fourteen, was wearing thick-rimmed glasses and wore a shirt that said 'Chess King'. God, Marcy must be pretty damn desperate to sell this house. You know she's desperate when her lipstick gets that vibrant.

"So these are real tiffany light fixtures and the kitchen has been completely remodelled.' Marcy cooed. The woman began scribbling on her paper and from the speed her hand was moving, it looked as if she was writing everything down word for word. Oh lord. I sighed and kicked off of the stairs to follow them into the kitchen.

Leaning on the doorframe, I watched as Marcy tried to schmooze them into buying the house. The kid was walking around and touching everything in sight. He swung on the pasta arm as if he was a monkey. Marcy gave him a look and I tensed, prepared for her to whip out the gun. The dad, for some unknown reason was walking around smelling the countertops and rubbing his finger along them. It made a god-awful squeaking noise. I was surprised that Thaddeus didn't crawl up from the basement and rip his throat out. I sure wanted to. God. Death sure has made me bitter. No, who am I kidding? I was bitter before.

It was awful to see the glee on the woman's face as Marcy described the house's 'wonders'. I knew what would happen if Marcy managed to hook her. But any second now they'd ask what was wrong with it, why was the price so low? And then maybe they'd all run screaming before we had to make them.

'They wouldn't last half a second in here." A deep voice mumbled behind me. I tried to ignore him. I'd been pretty successful thus far. "Look at that kid. All you'd have to do is yank those high wasted pants down and he'd run for his life yelling 'I've been molested!'" I whirled on him and gave him a cold and incredulous look. The smirk faded from his face as he realised the irony in his statement. His hair was, well, messy as usual, and his eyes sparkled like black gold. No, I reminded myself. No they didn't. His eyes sparkled like…no, no his eyes didn't sparkle at all. I didn't even convince myself.

"Violet I-" he started, but I stopped him with my hand on his chest.

"Tate," I closed my eyes and braced myself. "Go-"

"You don't have to." He murmured – half bitter and half sad "I'm going." Like a whisper in the wind he was gone. I slumped back against the doorframe. Only a second later Jonah started spluttering upstairs. Soon it was a full on wail. So I kicked off of the doorframe and rushed up the stairs to calm him. A bit of Nirvana always seemed to settle the kid.


	3. Part 2

**A/N: I hope you're liking it guys! It'll all heat up in a bit! I have to warm before I can boil! And the chapters will get longer – I promise! **

**What are you thinking? Leave a review!**

Tate POV

Again. For ten months I've been trying, just trying to get her to have a short conversation with me. But I always say something stupid and fuck it up. It seems as if I'll never be able to move beyond my past. The sick thing is I don't even _remember_ doing those things she said I did. But Dr Harmon said that sometimes rage can cause blackouts.

"She's never going to give in man. Give it up. I told you six months ago and I'll tell you again now. Get over it." Oh shit, Hayden. This psychotic bitch just doesn't know when to drop it. Every single fucking day she tells me this. Just as many I want to knife her in the throat. But I can't – for Violet.

"Ok Hayden. Why don't you run along and play with one of your other toys?" I sighed as we reached the top of the stairs. She reached up and toyed with the pull cord for the attic.

"My other toys? Oh! You mean like your retarded little brother?" My hands flew to her throat and a horrible guttural sound ripped from my mouth.

"Take that back you filthy fucking whore!" I roared and backed her against the wall. She laughed and flashed me a wicked smile. I slammed her head into the wall. Blood coated her teeth. "TAKE IT BACK!"

Jonah stirred and started to scream. And then I saw what I was doing. I saw the marks on Hayden's neck as I removed my shaking hands and the feral expression on my face in a picture frame. I tied my hands into my hair in frustration.

"What the hell is going on?" Violet demanded as she appeared at the top of the stairs. I swiped the angry tears from my cheeks. She knew. She knew what was going on.

"Tate just got a little…carried away." Hayden purred and ran a finger down my stomach. It took all the restraint I could muster not to rip her hand off.

"Hayden." I growled in warning. Finally she removed her finger and took off for the basement to have sex with that horny kid Constance was with. What an excellent mother, replacing her children with new ones – and screwing them. My rotten core really couldn't have come as much of a surprise to her, seeing as the apple never falls far from the tree.

Violet had already left, with a poignant eye roll, to calm Jonah. It breaks my heart that she'll never have children. I walked into the nursery behind her. Thank god they got rid of that god-awful mint green and red décor – though the new powder blue hardly goes with the atmosphere in the rest of the house.

Just the sight of Violet's face had soothed the baby. That first day I saw her, pain on her face and blood droplets at her wrist, I felt exactly the same way. Everything about her screams 'I understand you.' And that's really all I was searching for. Until I discovered love. And ever since that love was ripped away from me, I seem to be perpetually seeking it. Seeking a way to win it back. Seeking a way to win _her_ back.

"Tate. What are you staring at?" The way she looked at me turned my stomach. I can't stand her treating me like a crazy person.

"Nothing. I'm just – I'm just going to go check on Beau." I mumbled and ducked out of the room. Her eyes burned my back.


	4. Part 3

**A/N: Hello! So, as promised, this chapter is longer. Tell me if you prefer them shorter, or even if you want them to be even longer than this. Your wish is my command. Hope you like it! Reviews are always appreciated!**

Violet POV

It was strange; consciously concealing myself from Tate. And quite difficult too. I think he knew that I was in the room because he kept glancing over to the corner where I was perched. I probably kept flashing in and out of view as my resolve wavered. Plus I was exceedingly uncomfortable; the box I sat on was slowly sinking in and covered with dust.

Tate was sitting, legs spread wide, opposite Beau. Beau's little red ball was clasped in Tate's fist as he playfully refused to roll it back. Beau was clapping his hands in glee. His chains rattled as he lurched forward to take the ball. Tate threw it up to him and Beau scrambled to grab it as it skittered across the attic's uneven floor. That cute little smile on Tate's face reminded me of how sweet he could be. But the thought of my mother's eyes cast longingly out of the window reminded me equally of the side of him I'd never known. The side of him that terrified me.

The ball was rolled back into Tate's lap and this time he rolled it back gently. The expression on his face was one I'd seen many times. A sort of mix between tender and worried.

'Hey Beau?' Tate began. Beau stopped batting the ball between his hands and looked up. A lopsided smile hung on his face and he swatted away a matt of his hair from his forehead. 'Do you play with Hayden too?' It was an odd question to ask, I thought. Almost everyone in the house plays with Beau. I think most people feel that a little bit of his innocence rubs off on them when they do. We all needed a little of that.

Beau made an unintelligible sound in reply, but his intent was clear. Yes, Hayden played with him and he was definitely excited about it. Tate's expression hardened slightly and he slid himself closer to Beau.

'Does she hurt you Beau?' That surprised me. Why would Hayden hurt Beau? Tate held Beau's chin gently between his fingers and locked his eyes on his. Beau shook his head, clearly confused. 'Is she mean to you Beau?' Tate said softly. Again Beau shook his head and pointed to his ball. Tate nodded. 'Alright.'

Beau lurched forward and wrapped his big arms around him. Tate put just as much enthusiasm into the hug and patted him on the back. 'Just looking out for my little brother.' Tate smiled and Beau picked up his ball expectantly again.

I left them to find Moira. She always seemed to know everything that went on in this house. Patrick and Mark were flirting in the hall as I walked past. Mark had moved in with his parents four months ago – thirty-one and still living with your mom, ouch. We'd done our usual routine to drive them out, but when Mark stumbled upon Elizabeth's severed torso he threw himself out of the second story window and was impaled on top of Dad's gazebo. Chad was not best pleased with the new houseguest. In all honesty, neither was I – it gets pretty crowded in here at times.

Moira was in the kitchen, as I'd suspected, dusting the cabinets. I'd never really been close with Moira before. Dad had this weird infatuation with her when we first moved in and so I wasn't exactly her biggest fan. But ever since dad died she's been so sweet to Jonah and me. Plus mom seems to have some kind of sisterhood going on with her. She'd let her hair down so that it curled at her neck and the sleeves of her shirt were rolled messily to her elbow. I preferred her like this, she felt more approachable.

'I know mom told you not to do the cleaning by yourself anymore.' I accused as I walked up behind her.

'Its what I'm good at, what I enjoy.' She shrugged. 'I wouldn't do anything I didn't want to do.' I nodded and started washing the dishes in the sink. Moira began to tut. 'Roll your sleeves up Violet. Oh, they're already sopping wet!' She reached over to withdraw my hands, but I pulled them away before she could.

'I wanted to ask you something anyway.' I began, knotting my hands behind my back. She looked about to protest so I rushed on. 'Is there something going on between Hayden and Tate? You always seem to know what's going on around here.' She looked at me pointedly.

'Are you calling me nosy?' she smiled. 'I tend to think of myself as more…watchful than nosy.' I laughed and nodded. She didn't seem as if she was going to continue.

'Just because I saw them together earlier and…well Tate looked mad, but I'm not sure what was - uh…' I trailed off, trying desperately not to look jealous. I told myself that I wasn't. Tate seems to have a thing for all of my Dad's lovers, in any case.

'As far as I know, Hayden is only involved with two of the housemates – at Tate is not one of them.'

'Well I know about Travis, though that relationship is so twisted and weird that I can't even…' I immediately realised the irony in that statement and hurried on 'but who is the other? Please don't tell me Mark is batting for both teams?' Nothing really comes as much of a surprise in this house, but that guy's blouses are so flowery that it's hard to think that there is a heterosexual bone in his body.

'I'm not sure actually, they're always in the dark corners of the basement, but I've heard those poor little girls complaining that they always interrupt their tea parties. And Travis is a regular member, so it can't be him that she's with.' Moira's smile was so broad at the mention of Larry's children; it made me a little sad. I still don't know how she died.

'So how do you know that it wasn't Tate?'

'Because he's always moping around in your room or sitting in the bathtub.' She shook her head. 'I've never understood that boy.' She turned back to place down the dishcloth and I tried to hide my uncomfortable expression. It seems as if I'm the only one that _does_ understand him. Then another thought struck me.

'Oh god. It better not be my dad. That little slut! Why can't she just keep her hands off of what she can't have' I fumed and whirled around to exact my vengeance.

I couldn't find Hayden anywhere. But I did find a very sullen looking Chad. Poor guy, he's clutching at a dying relationship – there really is not chance for salvation. I didn't stop to talk to him – we don't get on, what with him trying to steal my mother's babies and all. Plus I incinerated his antique watch. It's a mutual hatred. I resolved to retreat to my room and put on some hideously loud music. The solution to all problems.

As if to prove Moira's point I found Tate sprawled across my bed. He jumped as I slammed the door.

'Tate, what are you doing here?'

"I-I was just-' he looked lost 'well this was my bedroom too!' and then angry. I sighed and folded my arms. I wish he would just leave me alone. It made it so much harder to let him go. I picked up the remote to my IPod dock.

'Just go away Tate.' I switched on the music and turned to throw myself on the bed. But Tate was still there. 'H-how are you still here?'

He looked just as surprised as I was. 'You have to mean it when you say it.' A smile tugged at his lips. 'You have to _want_ me to go away. Clearly you don't. Otherwise I would have gone. Forced or not.'

'Fine. Whatever, Tate. Stay or don't stay. Just don't bother me.' I flopped down onto the floor instead and flipped through a book. But I couldn't concentrate. I was so hyperaware that he was above me. I could hear his every breath. I threw the book down. 'Who is the other guy Hayden is climbing on top of?' I got up and began to pace.

'W-what?' Tate looked bemused.

'You two seem – close.' I tried to sound neutral on this fact.

'We'll were not.' He spat and stormed out of the room. For a moment it hurt. And then I just didn't care. At least I knew one way to get him to leave me alone.

**A/N: Just a quick one: I don't get anyone to read over my work, but if you spot any major errors (or minor ones) then please tell me and if you think I need a beta then feel free to leave a review saying so! Also, I live in England and so I apologise if there are any parts of this that sound too English or if I spell things wrong etc. If anything keeps reoccurring, do tell me :) Other than that I hoped you liked it and I'll get on writing the next part! Some major discoveries coming! **


	5. Part 4

**A/N: Hello! Happy New Year everyone 3 I know this has taken a while, but I've had to start revising for my January exams. I don't really have much else to say so…enjoy!**

**Tate POV**

I don't think I could be more frustrated than I was in that moment. On one hand I was fucking ecstatic that Violet could tolerate me in a room – sad but true. We'd even been talking; it was almost like it used to be. But then Hayden had to pop up again. I swear that bitch should be haunting Ben, not me! I know storming out of the room wasn't really showing Violet how much I'd changed, but I figured putting Hayden in line was a more pressing matter. That was sure to soil my record anyway. I'd worry about fixing the damage later. I'd waited ten months; I could wait some more. That's what _forever_ means.

And there it was again, the most excruciating memory I have.

'Go away Tate.' The words drilled through me like bullets. Everything became so hard to understand. She was my everything. So now I have nothing. Watching her decorate that tree, happy with her family. The smile on her face had nothing to do with me. I never thought I'd resent her happiness. But then I also never thought that her happiness wouldn't involve me.

Fuck.

I was actually really surprised that she saw me in her room. Usually I just sit quietly on her windowsill as she reads or paces around her room. She paces a lot more then she used to. I must have been thinking about her, heck that's pretty much all I do. But my thoughts must have overridden my intent and revealed me. I'm glad they did.

The door to the basement rattled as I shut it behind me. The stairs groaned. I could hear Hayden already. The little slut was moaning like a cat. It was a strange and unattractive sound. The guy provoking it didn't seem to think so. Their shadows danced frantically on the wall.

'Hayden.' I pushed the guy off of her and grabbed her face. 'From now on, you leave me alone.' There was no give in my tone.

'Can I point out that you came to me?'

My palm buzzed, begging to slap her.

'Travis, you're welcome to her. I don't know why you'd wa-' Oh my god. It wasn't Travis. His lips were swollen and his hair was far more tousled than I ever remembered it being. But it was definitely him.

'Dad…' I tried to grab at comprehension, but everything I clutched just shot from my fingers. Everything was just – blank.

'Shit.' He muttered. My eyes burned, my lungs shrivelled. Fear and anger burst inside me.

'Really dad? REALLY? You've been awol my whole life and now you just waltz in here, into the fucking house I'm caged in, and fuck the first semi-attractive ghost you find? Do you know how sick that is? DO YOU KNOW HOW SICK YOU MAKE ME?' I was so angry I was rooted to the spot. My fists vibrated so forcefully that I could practically hear them buzzing.

'I didn't just…waltz in here. I've…well, Tate...' He paused.

'Spit it out you disgusting little cocksucker!' He stared at me, bewildered. I managed to take a step. 'Before I make you.' And there it was, my anger roped in and coiled in my fist. Ready to be thrown back out.

'Tate I've always been here. You caught me off guard today, I didn't think to hide myself.'

'You what?'

'Forget about this Tate.' He vanished. Hayden had gone long before. The emptiness of the basement, for once, seemed absolute.

**Violet POV**

I couldn't remain indifferent for long. When Tate didn't come back, I realised that I'd expected him to. At first I was just disappointed. After an hour I was a little hurt. After two, I was actually worried; for what reason I have no idea, the kid's already dead.

No matter how hard I try I just can't stop loving him. I can turn it off for a day or two. I can shut it out all I want. But then I thought, maybe I should finally face the facts and figure things out with Tate. But I couldn't figure out how to reconcile our relationship. So I resigned to wing it.

I walked out into the hall. I didn't really know where to go from there. Wow. Great plan Vi.

'Tate?' I called quietly. Nothing.

Well what did I expect? I couldn't just summon him. I rolled my eyes at myself and set off down the stairs. I could see that mom was in the kitchen from the reflection in the door and so tiptoed past. I didn't want to get caught up in another conversation about her new plan for the yard. I think she liked working out in the yard. She probably felt less trapped.

Tate wasn't in the kitchen and dad had a patient with him in the office. Just think how much more screw up those people would be if they knew they were being treated by a ghost.

Weirdly, the basement was empty. Maybe everyone was playing hide and seek. I had always hated being the seeker.

And then I remembered my conversation with Moira and had a strange feeling of comprehension. I decided to give my hunch a little leash. The bathroom door was surprisingly quiet as I inched it open. It seemed as if everything in this house made some sort of creaking sound. And there he was, curled up in the bath. Crying his eyes out. For a minute all I could do was stand there like an idiot. And then I wanted to rush forward and hold him, but I couldn't let myself.

'Tate?' I'd meant to make my voice sound a lot stronger than that. Only one of us could be vulnerable in this situation. He looked up at me. The absolute confusion and pain in his eyes tore down my shambolic defences. I stepped into the tub opposite him and took his hand. 'What happened?'

'My dad. He's in the house. Apparently he always has been.' Wow. I really didn't know what to say. An mhhmm wouldn't suffice like it did so many times when I was speaking to my Mom. I'd forgotten how intense it was to have a relationship with Tate. It made me feel just that little bit more alive. Metaphorically.

'Why wouldn't you have seen him before?' The sleeve of his sweater was wet with his tears.

'I don't know Violet. I don't know anything anymore.' He sounded so defeated. 'I don't know the secret. I never did.' He whispered.

I took his other hand and pulled him up gently. Our shoes squeaked against the porcelain. Seeing him so fragile made it hard to believe his past. In that moment I forgot it all. I knew I was making things complicated. I knew I was setting myself up for a long fall. I knew I was playing with a grenade heart. But that moment was worth it.

I pulled him towards me and buried my head into his shoulder. My fingers dug into his sweater. He made a choked sound and crushed me against his chest. It was the best few seconds I'd had in months.

He started to pepper my hair with soft kisses and I knew I had to end it. I couldn't let it go this far. At least not yet. I drew back and put a hand to his cheek.

'I'll help you figure all of this out. Ok?' Eventually he'd have to explain…everything. But for now – we could be friends.

**A/N: Alright, so I want to know what you think about two POVs in one part…ok or not ok? Again if you see any mistakes tell me! Hope you liked it! More to come – I'm trying to answer all reviews, but it is a little hard to remember which ones I have answered and which ones I haven't. So I apologise if I don't reply to you or if I reply twice! Haha. Ok, I'm actually going now – until next time – bye!**


	6. Part 5

**A/N: Ok, I suck. I know. Sorry that it has literally been a century since I updated, I had a lot of stuff going on, but now I'm settled at Uni and can pick this up again! Not really much else to say. Hope you like it and are enjoying the new series of AHS!**

**Tate POV**

I was sprawled out across Violet's bed, a pencil stuck in my mouth to stunt the words threatening to burst out. It was completely irrational, but I didn't want Violet to know how vulnerable I felt. She'd seen me at my rawest, but at that point, having been in her arms a mere hour before I just couldn't bare to be so exposed. Violet was sitting just in front of me on the floor, resting her back against the bed and scrolling through webpages on the murder house. I hovered my hand over her hair, skimming the few fine strands that stood out above the rest. I withdrew my hand quickly when I realised she was watching me in the monitor and cleared my throat.

'Found anything?' I asked around the pencil, leaning over her shoulder to read the page she'd stopped at. It didn't seem of much consequence to me, detailing a few lucky couples that had managed to escape the fate of the rest of us. She looked up at me, lips pressed together in contemplation and then shook her head.

'Not really, there isn't any mention of a Hugo on any of the pages I've visited.' She pulled the pencil from my mouth in a sleeved hand and scribbled down the web address anyway. Turning to face the bed, she pushed the pencil back into my palm and then looked up at me. I don't know what she saw in my expression, but it was strong enough for her to lift her hand, as if to touch my cheek. I swallowed roughly as she furrowed her brow and withdrew her hand, rubbing her forehead.

'Why is this so god damn hard?' Violet mumbled, pushing up from the floor and turning her iPod dock on. 'All Apologies' by Nirvana came softly through the speakers and she stood there for a moment, hands planted on the desk, her head hung between her shoulders. I slid myself off the bed and hovered behind her, not sure if she was waiting for an answer. She pushed off of the desk and turned to face me, shrugging.

'Maybe because feeling just…hurts between us.' I caught the trailing fabric of her cardigan and rubbed the wool between my fingers. My stomach felt as hollow and empty as my heart, as if admitting the pain gave it leash. Violet had frozen, trying to look indifferent about our closeness, as she always did. I tugged softly and then let her cardigan drop and hang in the silence. She wouldn't meet my eye. I backed away, sitting heavily back down on the bed and burying my head in my hands.

'Tate.' She whispered. I exhaled sharply into my hands, tensing to hear the words of my banishment. 'I just…don't know _what_ I feel, _why_ I feel, or even _if_ I feel for you right now.' It was a blow, but it wasn't the ultimate I'd been expecting. I splayed my fingers so that I could look at her, shadowed in lamplight.

'I guess I can live with that for now.' I mumbled, shoving my palms against my eyes and then letting them drop into my lap. 'I promise I won't over complicate things. What works for you, works for me.' I tried to smile and managed a limp quirk of my right cheek. Violet came to sit next to me and kicked off her converse to fold her legs up. She drew them into her chest as a barrier and peered at me over the top, he eyes conveying so much and yet so little that I could decipher.

"I'm sorry for what I said about Hayden.' She mumbled, rubbing her hand against her scars absent-mindedly.

'You didn't say anything about Hayden.' I reassured her.

'Look Tate, I know what I said pissed you off, and I'm not going to lie, I knew it would. But I know you're not friends with her, I know how she drives you insane and throws herself at you, I know that you hate her guts. I just-'

'But wait…' I cut her off, unconsciously leaning closer 'How do you know all of that? Why wouldn't you think there was something going on with her…after what you saw?'

'You think you're the only one who sneaks around here?' she answered with a small smile. Emotion swelled inside of me and filled the hollow caverns of my chest and stomach, pumping blood through to my fingers so forcibly that it became uncomfortable, so I clenched them into a fist. She hadn't forgotten about me. All those months I'd thought that she'd expelled me from her thoughts, from her life. And hearing those words was like a revelation.

'Violet, I've wanted to-' the song change jarred me, punching a hollow back into my stomach. Tears pushed at the backs of my eyes and I hurled myself off of the bed and out of the room, becoming invisible before the door could even shut behind me.

**A/N: Sorry that wasn't mega long, but I'm just getting back into the swing of things! I hope you liked it and haven't given up faith on me! I'm going to try and update every Thursday from now on at least, and since I've been gone so long I'll try and update again then this week too. Oh and any guesses on what song came on? Don't worry, you only have until Thursday to wait to find out! All reviews appreciated! x**


	7. Part 6

**A/N: Hey guys! I know I said I'd update last Thursday, but the Internet in my uni dorm has been down until yesterday! But nonetheless I hope you enjoy this, thanks for all the support!**

**Violet POV**

It was strange to actually _watch_ Tate disappear; I'd always closed my eyes before. There wasn't a puff of smoke like in those old cheesy magic shows. He sort of just glimmered and then faded mid stride through the doorway. And I sat there dumbly staring at empty space for a good half minute before I realised why he had left. I glared at my Ipod, wanting to scold it for having such little tact – but sometimes I felt like it was my only friend in this whole house, and I didn't want to ruin that. I shook my head at how sad and crazy that thought was and then snatched it from the dock. The song cut off and I wondered just how messed up Kurt (I felt like we'd spent enough time together to be on first name terms…) had to be to write a song like that. Maybe Tate was like Kurt, or Kurt was like Tate; or they were both completely different but messed up all the same.

I turned my Ipod off, watching _Rape Me_ fade to blackness and trying not to think of my Mom. But of course, when you try not to think about someone, it is inevitable that you will. I supposed she died in the most poetic way – a death for a life. But I'd always wondered if she would have still died if it had been just Dad's child in her. I'd thought about it non stop after that Christmas and concluded that she probably would have died anyway, knowing this house. It is the 'Murder House' after all.

That thought reminded me of the webpage I'd been on earlier, and since Tate had disappeared, I decided to investigate the hunch I'd had. It was just a fanatic's blog, a bunch of crazy commentary on 'the legend of the house', and it looked pretty out-dated, the last date stamp was from over four years ago. But I wasn't interested in his or her theories; a certain article had caught my eye. It was about a guy called Roger Murphy, who had allegedly lived with his fiancée and three children in the house. He fled the house in 1979 for unknown reasons (I'm banking on Thaddeus) and was seen in the middle of the night, getting into his car wearing only his boxers and carrying a suitcase. He isn't mentioned anywhere else again.

When I'd first read it, nothing had really seemed special about Roger, or his story. But then I'd read it again more carefully and the chronology didn't seem to make sense. I know that Tate was born in the house…in 1977, and this guy had left in 1779. I know that this whack-job on the internet could have been making Roger up, or have been misinformed. But something told me that he wasn't. And I wasn't looking forward to telling Tate what I knew, or at least what I thought I did.

**Tate POV**

The most infuriating thing was that I didn't remember. I didn't remember any of it, and yet I still had the remorse of the full event. It was like I'd blacked out during a sad movie, but woken up heartbroken and crying at the story that I hadn't even witnessed. That fact didn't make any of it better, of course. I'd still raped Vivien, I'd still killed those fifteen students. God…was it really fifteen? That just seems like so many. I just couldn't think about the others I'd killed, or hurt, or betrayed. Because one of those people was Violet.

In that moment I was on the brink. And that thought would have pushed me far over the edge. It's kind of aggravating not being able to kill yourself. Because when you're sitting there with a knife at your stomach, you just look stupid, instead of tragic. Though thinking about it, one doesn't seem much better than the other. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and slid the knife back into its block, resigned not to make a mess that Moira would just end up cleaning up. I sort of felt indebted to her, seeing as my Mother had shot her in the eye.

To be honest I wanted to start talking to Dr Harmon again, but he'd been ignoring me – for obvious reasons. So I went up to the attic and talked to Beau instead because he didn't understand and he didn't care. Plus, Beau made me feel less like a criminal, and less dead too. He had a sort of vitality that just seemed to transcend death. I could hear his breathing as I opened the attic door, and felt a little better already. But as I climbed the steps, I wished that Addie was still alive, or at least that she had died in the house with me. I missed her. She really was a pretty girl.

Beau was curled up in the shadows when I climbed into the attic and shut the door below me. I whispered to him quietly

'Hey Beau, are you tired of playing finally?' I saw him lift his head at the sound of my voice and he grunted quietly. I crawled over to him, placing a hand on his hair, just sitting quietly next to him for a second and soaking up his peace. 'Sometimes Beau, I just feel like I can't be the person I want to be.' I said softly, already feeling better having spoken to _someone_ about how I was feeling. It was a scary thing to be feeling, and normally I would have talked to Violet about it. But things hadn't been like that between us in such a long time that I'd begun to believe they couldn't go back. 'You know, sometimes I feel like I need to-'

I was interrupted as the trap door came open and Violet's head bobbed into the opening. Her look softened as she spotted me and slowly I withdrew my hand from Beau's hair and went to her. I'd regained enough confidence to at least smile at her before we descended the steps together and face her completely as we stood at the bottom. For the first time in months something witty to say came to mind, and it was so much like me to think it that I startled myself. I'd missed being Tate and not a broken shambles of him. But I held my tongue because Violet's expression was serious, and I didn't want to make her regret seeking me out.

'Is everything ok…I mean are you ok?' I corrected myself because really I didn't care about anything other than her. She nodded, and took my hand. As she led me into her room, my mind dropped straight into the gutter. I'm pretty sure she could see it on my face as she turned to shut the door behind us because she slapped me softly across my chest, smiling for a moment. But her smile faded quickly and that serious look took over her features again. I leant back against the door and folded my arms.

'Tate, I think I found something, and I feel like you should know. But I don't know if it's true, and I don't want to you-'

'Violet.' I said her name with just a little too much tenderness in my voice, but her stress seemed to temper it, and she didn't comment, only took a deep breath and said

'Well, I don't think you're going to like it.'

**A/N: Sorry I didn't get to upload twice last week, but I'm going for at least once a week. Thank you for the support guys, all reviews appreciated! Love, Maddy x**


	8. Part 7

**A/N: Hey guys! I have risen from the dead! I've been watching Coven and it really made me want to start this up again…so if you're still with me I'm going to actually try to be consistent this time! I will try to post every Monday. Thanks for all the support and reviews!**

Violet POV

Tate's expression made me crumple inside. He stood dumbly as I told him of my suspicions, his hands lax and defeated at his sides. I just hoped that this information wouldn't dent him further, drive him into that dark corner of his mind forever. I touched his arm softly as I finished and he looked down at the contact between our skin. Goose bumps rippled up my arm. Indifference was hard enough when you meant it. Mine was built with fractured pieces and he pulled them out without even trying. My fingers squeezed gently against his arm, bringing his eyes up to mine.

'It could all be bullshit.' I said, even though I didn't believe it. His eyes swam with hurt.

'So you're saying that…Hugo isn't my dad?' he asked. I nodded, shrugging. 'And that this guy, this Roger, is?'

I didn't know what to say. I should have held my tongue until I'd ironed out the creases. What if I was hurting him for no reason? Adding to his confusion. I pushed my hair back from my eyes and sat down on the bed. A headache began to knead against my temples. It seemed unfair that I couldn't even take any medication to get rid of it. There really were no perks to being a ghost.

'Well, it makes a little sense? I mean this guy lived here until you were two. It says that he had a fiancée and three kids. That would be Addie and you…but then Beau wouldn't have been born at this point so…well I don't know Tate. It's probably just my messed up brain spinning theories. But I thought you should know anyway.' I folded my arms across my chest, annoyed that I'd just talked myself out of the theory in seconds, when I'd spent hours agonising over it before telling Tate. But, then again, stranger things had happened.

Tate looked at me, for the first time in months really _looking_ at me. I felt naked under his stare, drawing my legs into my chest. He stepped towards me, his hand hovering just inches from where mine were wrapped around my knees. I met his gaze, biting my lip. Inwardly I warred with myself. Telling myself to be strong, hold my resolve. Thinking just as forcefully that I should give in, allow the inevitable. I took a deep breath and blew out those thoughts in one sharp exhale. I reached out and took his hand. His thumb made small circles across my hand, scratching softly as the callouses caught my skin. It was the most intimate we'd been since Christmas and it made me feel alive.

'Violet…' I could hear him strain for clarity in his voice, holding it against a break. 'Why do you bother with me?' I was struck dumb. Because the only answer I had to his question was the one I couldn't admit. That I still loved him. That I never could stop. I settled for a weak shrug and tugged the corners of my mouth into a sarcastic smile.

'I'm a masochist. What can I say?' I tried to joke, but I could tell he didn't buy it. He brought his face immeasurably close to mine, so close that my breath was his and his mine. I almost choked on the tension. My lungs yearned for a cigarette for the first time since I'd died.

Jesus. This boy and the things he did to me. He reached inside of me, pulling strings like a puppeteer, prodding at my heart. 'Tate.' I said unevenly, clutching at his hand, feeling its clamminess as an extension of myself.

'I think it's as good a theory as any.' He finally said, shifting to sit beside me, as if the moment had never happened. He toyed with my fingers in his lap, spreading them apart, pinching the tips and smoothing his thumb over the nails. 'I don't remember ever having another sibling. But Constance has no bounds. The woman is batshit.' He shrugged. A laugh huffed from my throat, dislodging the lump his closeness had formed.

'We need to do more research. For all we know Roger could just be a ploy to flesh out the background of the house. Everything is about money these days.' I said, squashing the voice inside me calling out my real motives. Research meant time. Time with Tate. Somewhere inside of me felt it a shame to waste months of work, months of swallowing my feelings. But I couldn't find that place. My feelings were bright and clear in front of me, splashed across my actions like paint on a canvas.

'Ok.' He said simply, turning to smile at me. He seemed to consider something, drawing his hands into his lap, picking lint from his shirt. Tentatively I put my hand on his thigh, a touch so light, I didn't want to crush him. He looked up at me, a childish sort of delight in his eyes. 'I love the way you see the world.' He said, turning his body towards me. 'I love that you can see the hate and the shit. But that you don't let it ruin you.'

'Tate…I-' I couldn't think of anything comprehensible to say, tears welling stubbornly in my eyes. He mistook me.

'Vi, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I know you just want to be friends.' He went to get up, but I snared his arm and pulled him back down, crushing him against my chest. His breath came against my ear like a choke, his fingers digging deliciously hard into my shoulders. He didn't kiss my hair this time, though I secretly would have liked him to. I just couldn't deny it any longer. I was meant for Tate and he was meant for me. Here was this boy; messed up as fuck, confused beyond belief – the only one who understood me. The irony burned in my lungs.

We pulled apart and he looked at me for an agonisingly long time. His hands came up to cup my cheeks and I leaned into them, sure that this wasn't a good idea but not caring at all. His eyes were burning black, lips parted delicately as he leaned in. Our lips barely brushed in our hesitancy. My fingers tingled as I slid them through his hair.

And then the sound of Marcy's heels clunking in the hallway jolted us apart. Her voice drifted distantly into the room as we heard her opening and closing doors. Our hands remained clasped together in between our heaving chests. Shadows of feet appeared under the door. We glanced agonisingly at each other and winked out of sight.


	9. Part 8

**A/N: Had an essay last Monday, but hoping to make it up by posting twice this week! Hope you enjoy!**

Tate and I skirted around each other for the next couple of days. We would brush against one another in passing, as if touches so subtle could be hidden even from ourselves. We had spoken, sprawled on my bedroom floor, of his father a lot – Hugo or Robert; a mystery Father X had also arisen from Tate's imagination but what's one more crazy theory amongst many? Our hands would flirt in the air around each other, never quite landing their flight but flitting so close that the contact was mirrored by a track of goose bumps.

I was in Jonah's room, smoothing a finger over his furiously red cheeks, hushing his whimpers when I felt Tate's presence behind me, like a magnetic field pulsing through my body. All my instincts screamed at me to lean back into him. I rocked back on my heels, catching myself on the crib before I could crash back into him, shaking my head to quell the animalistic urge. I had to think long term, and long term meant distance, a creeping pace that neither of us seemed capable of. _Don't complicate things Violet, you're just getting him back._ Not that I knew where I was reeling him back from. A painful thought shot through me: maybe I should have left him there, left him on the precipice of his evil. Maybe that was where he belonged. Maybe he just couldn't exist on the cliff, maybe he belonged in the pit.

But his gentle face as I turned around screamed against that judgment. He stared down at Jonah, a delicate look morphing to near awe as he shifted his gaze to mine. It was excruciating to step back. But I did. The space between us felt cavernous.

'Did you talk to the creepy nurses?' I said, clearing my throat of the tension in a cough. It rattled through me and I hunkered over, expelling the weight of the last few days in a fit of air. The concern on his face as I straightened, bringing my hand from my mouth, poured happiness through my veins. 'Calm down Tate. I'm already dead, remember?' I brought his hand to my chest without thinking, and instead of feeling the nothingness of death in my chest he felt my breath hitch and falter.

'Dead as stone.' He confirmed with a smile. I stepped out from under his touch and headed to my bedroom before he could feel my breath falter again. He followed wordlessly; throwing himself on my bed, feet hanging off the end like a rag doll. He scrubbed a hand across his face, coal eyes meeting mine with a pained expression. 'The nurses were completely useless. They said they couldn't even remember Constance living here, let alone anyone with her. Well actually the fat one didn't say anything. And the other looked so shifty, like I was about to stab her. So I just left. They're both cracked.'

'Tate.' I said to cut him off. 'They were brutally murdered and then stuck in the scene of their death for all eternity. Have a little compassion.' I didn't like him when we was this harsh. I didn't feel like I could temper his anger. And it scared me. I preferred him broken. I could fix him then. What an awful thing to think. I moved to sit on the bed, curling myself up above his head and staring down at him. He stiffened, a dark look overcasting his eyes.

'I don't have compassion Violet.' His voice was deadly quiet. 'I can't be what you want me to be. I've murdered. I've raped. I've hurt people. And I don't even care enough to remember.' Tears glinted in his eyes and as he turned his head away from me they dripped down to his chin.

'I believe in you Tate.' I said, reaching down to cup his face. 'I know you did all of those things, but I don't see them in you. Your light pulled me from the dark, so let me return the favour.' His hands came up to my knees, squeezing them as if they were his last hope. He tilted his chin to look up at me properly, his hair shifting to tickle my legs. I bent over him, tracing a finger over his lips as he spoke.

'Thank you.' He muttered, before pushing himself up and falling into my lap, arms squeezing me against his body. I weaved my finger through his hair, closing my eyes.

'We'll figure all of this out.'


End file.
